


Whispers

by Thirdeyeblinkings



Series: Fun and Games [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Deamus, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Muggle games, Mutual Pining, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 13:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19252507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thirdeyeblinkings/pseuds/Thirdeyeblinkings
Summary: From Seamus's lips to Dean's ears . . . Or not?When you've been through a war, something as silly as pining after your best friend shouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things. And yet.A game of Broken Telephone helps our boys figure out those tricky crossed wires in their relationship.Written as part of my multi-ship Fun and Games series. :)Thank you to @keyflight for the beta! <3





	Whispers

 

**Whispers**

 

Broken Telephone is the game of the hour on this rainy Sunday evening. Hilarious. Half of the people playing don’t even know what a telephone _is_. Not that Seamus minds the game so much; it's just boring, is all. Without much of a point. Something designed for a six-year-old’s birthday party to kill time.

It feels like a bloody children’s party, too--all of them sitting in a circle on the rug in the Eighth Year common room, knees knocking and shoulders hunched. Dean shifts his crossed legs on the floor beside Seamus and sighs.

“I don't know this one. You?” he asks with a grin.

Seamus nods. “Yeah. There’s a lot of whispering, I think.”

Dean smirks. “Perfect. You’ll have to be quiet for once.”

Seamus punches his shoulder. “Watch it, Thomas.”

“Watching it,” he rolls his eyes and looks away, lips still curved up.

Their old jokes and routines still come easily, their dynamic as comfortable as an old shoe by now. Sort of. Except.

Well. The war changed everyone, or so Seamus keeps hearing. But he doesn’t feel changed. Yes, the nightmares, the grudges, the lost childhood--whatever, sure. But the important things haven’t changed for him.

He still blows things up far too often. He still wishes his Dad didn’t jump anytime him or Mam performed magic without warning. He still hasn’t come out to anyone officially, though he suspects it won’t be much of a surprise.

Oh, and. He’s still deeply, painfully, desperately in love with his best friend. That will never change.

There was a time when he’d thought, or hoped--oh, how he'd _hoped-_ -that Dean felt the same. But that was before. Half of fifth year, all of sixth--well, not when Dean was with Ginny, but Seamus tries to think of those miserable months as little as possible. Those last sun-filled days before the war, though . . .  they’d been headed towards something. He was sure of it. Their touches lingered a little longer, their eyes met more often, they even feel asleep together a few times, accidentally, barely touching, but still. Still.

Now that’s gone. Their jokes and familiarity remain, but nothing else. Any hint of intimacy is gone. If anyone ever thought to ask him what he lost in the war, this would be his answer: what might’ve been.

Still, here they are. Alive. Friends. Playing games. _Alive._ It could be worse, right? He says that so often to himself it could be a mantra. It could be worse. Stop moping. It could be worse.  

Stealing a glance at Dean’s profile, he sees a new hardness there. Cheeks less round, jaw more defined, Adam’s apple more prominent. Dean’s also had his hair cropped very close--just a shadow on his scalp, barely a hint of the soft black coils Seamus used to dream of touching. He's quieter now, and less easy with his long limbs, more reserved in his crooked smiles. Seamus wonders how many of these changes are a result of Dean growing up, and how many are intentional decisions to leave boyhood behind.  

Can you miss someone who’s sitting right beside you? Can you miss someone you’ve never had?

Stop it. It could be worse.

“Now that we’ve all gathered in a circle, I’ll tell you how it works,” Hermione is saying. “Let’s say we start with Seamus.”

Seamus’s head snaps up at his name.

“He whispers something to the person on his right, and then that person whispers what they think he heard him say to the person on _their_ right, and all around the circle until it gets back to the person on Seamus’s left, who then says it out loud for the whole group to hear.”

Pansy looks unimpressed. “Seriously? That’s it?”

Even Ron looks a little doubtful.

“Yes,” Hermione sniffs. “Unless anyone has somewhere better to be?”

Well, that settles it.

“Look,” she continues, irked at the lack of enthusiasm. “It’s supposed to be funny.”

“If you say so, ‘Mione,” Harry offers weakly.

“Okay, then. Seamus, go ahead.”

“Oh--” Seamus startles. “I thought that was just . . . okay.” He had hoped to be a passive player in this game. Having Dean whisper nonsense in his ear would have been a decent perk.

But now he has to start it . . . which means he’s whispering to Parvati on his right, and the circle will end with Dean, and nobody will be whispering to him at all, which is _fine,_ and bloody hell, now he has to think of something to actually _say_ to Parvati, who’s waiting, and the whole room’s eyes are on him, including Dean’s, whose mouth is open, just a little, for some reason, which does something to Seamus’s insides, and so in a fit of panic, he whispers the first thing that comes to mind, quickly and harshly into Pavarti’s ear, lips brushing her earlobe:

“I wanna snog Dean’s face off.”

Pavarti’s eyes go wide, then narrow, and she frowns. “What?”

Seamus mirrors her expression and swallows, his cheeks aflame. _Fuck fuck fuck._

But what’s done is done.

“Whaddye mean, what?" Seamus laughs nervously. "Isn’t that the game? If you didn’t hear it right, just say what you think you might’ve heard, right Hermione?”

Hermione nods. “Yep. Seamus is right.”

Pavarti shrugs and leans into Blaise to whisper the message to him. He pulls back, his face a mix of confusion and amusement. Then he cups his hand around Pansy’s ear and relays the message to her. The same reaction sweeps through the circle, punctuated by the odd giggle.

“See, told you it was fun!” Hermione chirps.

Seamus feels his face must be positively glowing, and not in a good way. The idea that all of these people might be repeating what his idiot mouth let slip is mortifying. “ _Please fuck it up, please fuck it up,_ ” he chants in his head.

“Alright there?” Dean nudges his elbow. “You look like you’re going to sick up.”

“‘M fine. Fine,” Seamus insists, much too loud. Dean doesn’t look convinced.

Finally, _finally,_  Hannah leans toward Dean and whispers slyly into his ear. Seamus can’t look away, even though he wants to. He’s forgotten how to breathe.

A smile tugs at Deans lips, his eyes crinkle, then he breaks into a full out laugh. Well. It’s not the worst reaction, is it?

“Alright, so what did you hear?” Hermione asks eagerly.

Dean clears his throat. “I’d win a frog bean’s bake off?”

The room erupts into laughter.

Relief whooshes through Seamus’s lungs. Thank Merlin. He finds himself laughing along with everyone else. The worst is over.

“So, what did you really say, Seamus?” Luna asks from across the circle.

Oh, no.

“Oh, er . . .”

Buggering fuck, he’d forgotten that part. It’s only really funny if you know how badly the message was bastardised in the first place. Shit. He opens his mouth and hopes for once in his life that his tongue is ahead of his brain somehow.

“I said, um . . .” He shoots a pleading look at Pavarti. “Remind me?”

She bites her lip and winces in understanding. “Right. He said he . . . had a hog . . . mean . . . lace . . . cough?”

“Yes. Yep, that is exactly what I said.”

Hermione frowns. “But that doesn’t even make sense.”

“Who said it had to make sense?”

“How are people supposed to guess it if you just string nonsense words together?"

“It’s just a game, yeah? Didn’t know there were so many rules,” Seamus mutters.

There’s an awkward pause. Dean clears his throat again. "Should I start this time?”

“Does anyone still feel like playing?” Harry asks.

A few people shake their heads no. No, Seamus has gone and ruined the fun, hasn’t he?

“Think I’m done for the evening, but you lot go ahead,” Seamus sighs, and makes for his room. He slams the door shut, flops down on the bed and groans. _Why am I like this?_

He’s barely there for five minutes when Dean swings the door open. Seamus scrambles up to a sitting position.

“Hi,” Seamus mumbles when Dean looks his way.

“Hey.” Dean plops down on the foot of Seamus’s bed, inches away from his leg. “You sure you’re alright?”

Seamus shrugs. “Course. Just a game.”

Dean looks down, studying his own hands. “So what’d you really say?” he asks softly.

 _That I wanted to kiss you,_ Seamus can't help thinking. He could punch himself right now. _Shut_ **_up_**.

“Nothin. Something stupid.”

"Which is it? Nothing? Or something stupid?" The muscles of Dean's arms tense, like he's about to get up, or move somehow, but he stays where he his. Seamus can feel his gaze, even if he won't meet it.

Seamus shrugs again. "Nevermind."

Dean reacts swiftly and shoves Seamus's calf. "Budge over."

"Why?"

"Because you're hogging all the space," Dean says, like they never stopped doing this, being close like this, like they did it yesterday instead of years ago.

Seamus grunts and moves and Dean settles beside him. Right beside him, leaning back on the same headboard. Their arms are touching. Seamus looks at them, his pale, freckled skin against Dean's golden brown. Can't stop his mind from wondering what their bodies would look like, pressed together like that. _Oh, for fuck's_ **_sake._ **

Dean turns his head and catches Seamus staring. "Been a while since we did this, yeah?"

"Did what?" Seamus asks, playing dumb, making Dean say it.

"Just sat together like this. Missed it, you know?"

"Yeah," Seamus whispers. "Me too."

"Yeah?" Dean smiles. It's soft, hesitant.

Seamus nods.

After a moment, Dean stretches his arms up and rests an elbow on Seamus's shoulder, ruffles his hair quick, blink-and-you-miss-it. Seamus fights not to close his eyes and lean into the playful touch, even as goosebumps appear on his flesh at the contact of Dean's fingertips.

Deans hand rests there, in the dip between the headboard and Seamus's head. Passive, unmoving, but _there._

"'S too bad about the game," Dean is saying as Seamus tries to keep his wits.

"No it's not," Seamus snorts. "Stupidest game I've ever played."

Dean hums in disagreement. "I wanted a turn, though. I had a good one."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Really good. Wanna hear it?"

"Alright." Seamus is only too glad Dean hasn't asked him about what he said again. If Dean wants to talk nonsense, let him. This, them together like this . . . Dean could recite the alphabet in Latin and Seamus would listen all night long.

"Alright," Dean leans in, his nose brushing the sandy curls over Seamus's temple. Seamus swallows. He didn't expect Dean to _whisper_ it, here, just the two of them. A thrill shoots up his spine.

Dean's lips hover the shell of his ear. Seamus can't help it. His eyes flutter closed of their own volition.

"Ready?" Dean murmurs.

Seamus makes a noise he hopes Dean can decipher to mean yes.

"I . . ." Dean whispers, breath hot, tickling. "I . . ." he breathes again. Seamus worries he won't hear over his pulse thudding in ears. There's a pause. Finally Dean speaks a complete sentence, if one can call it that. He says, in a rush, clear as a bell: "Five hallways shoved you famous," then leans back and exhales.

Seamus opens his eyes and cocks his head. "What?" To be fair, he doesn't know what he was expecting. A declaration of eternal love? Not likely.

"What?" he says again, laughing. "That doesn't make sense." Seamus slides down so his head rests more comfortably on his pillow.

Dean follows his lead. Their shoulders are touching again, hands back at their sides. "Makes about much sense as yours, yeah?" he reasons, staring up at the ceiling.

"Spose so," Seamus admits. Warmth creeps up his neck. From here he can see the dip of Dean's collarbone under his shirt. He wants so badly to touch it, taste it. It's like an itch, driving him out of his own skin. He scratches the back of his head, searching for something else to say.

"Seamus . . ." Dean trails off, eyes straight ahead.

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever think about how we were . . . Before the war?"

A lump forms in Seamus's throat. "Yes."

"A lot?" Deans fingers twitch against his.

"All the time," Seamus answers.

Dean shivers inexplicably next to him. "Seamus?"

"What?"

"I really . . . want to know what you said."

Seamus studies Dean's collarbone again, contemplating. Would the chance to rest his head there be worth risking humiliation?

As if reading Seamus's mind, Dean inches closer, half turning, propped on his side. Seamus would only have to mirror his position, close the gap, and they would be face-to-face, chest-to-chest. But he doesn't. He _can't._ Can he? He feels the ghost of a finger on his jaw. Dean, wordlessly asking Seamus to look at him. So he does. Their eyes meet. Dean chews his bottom lip. "Tell me? Please?"

 _Merlin, that mouth, those_ **_eyes._** It's too much. Too fucking much.

"I want to kiss you," Seamus says hoarsely. "So much."

Dean's mouth falls open, just a little. For a moment, he thinks he's ruined everything. But then Dean's hands bracket his face and Dean's soft mouth is on his and they are, they _are_ kissing. Closed-lipped, their faces pressed together, sweet but there's a desperate edge to it. Seamus pulls back. "Wait, that's not what I said."

Dean freezes. "You didn't say you wanted to kiss me just now?"

“Oh, er, no, I did--”

“Okay, thank _god,_ ” Dean huffs, shaking his head.

“That’s just . . . not what I said for the game. What I actually said was . . .”

Dean raises both eyebrows. “Yeees?”

“Iwannasnogdean’sfaceoff,” Seamus mumbles, face aflame once again.

Dean grins. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I want to snog your face off!” Seamus practically shouts. “Okay?”

Beaming now, Dean touches his forehead to Seamus’s. “You do?”

“Fuck, yeah. I do. I have. For ages.” He reaches up and runs his hand over Dean’s hair, then palms his neck to bring their mouths closer.

"Okay. I like that plan," Dean's lips murmur against his. Merlin, that's hot.

Seamus feels the heat of Dean's tongue slip into his mouth and he wants to die. Is he dying right now? He angles his body towards Dean so they fit together in the way that seemed impossible only seconds ago, places a hand on Dean's hip bone and feels him arch into their embrace. Seamus meets Dean's tongue with his own; they tease each other, kiss hungrily, aching with something neither one dared to name before. Dean's hands are fastened on his back, just above his waist. They ruck up his shirt and map out his spine.

"Fuck-- _fuck,"_ Seamus pants into Deans neck. "How? How long have you. . .?"

"Always," Dean whispers in his ear. "I've always loved you, Seamus."

Seamus lifts his head to look at him. "I . . . Merlin's _dick_ , is _that_ what you said? That thing you whispered about hallways?"

Dean smiles fondly. "Clever one, aren't you."

"Did you know what I said, then?"

"No, I didn't. But your reaction . . . And I did wonder if 'frog bean' could perhaps, maybe, have something to do with snogging me. Parvati refused to confirm or deny--"

"You asked her?

"Of course I did. Are you not hearing me? I've fancied you forever. I couldn't just _not_ ask."

"Are we idiots?" Seamus wonders aloud.

"Oh, we're complete shitheads,” Dean says gravely. “It's a wonder we made it through first year, let alone a war."

"Agreed," Seamus laughs. "But we're here now at least."

"Yeah," Dean says, snaking a hand up to Seamus's face and cupping his jaw. "We're here now."

They kiss once more before deciding to talk again in the morning. Seamus wishes they could talk now, forever, that sleeping in a single dormitory bed wasn't so damn impractical and that they could figure out a proper extending spell between the two of them. But, oh well. He smiles into his pillow. It could be worse, couldn't it?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are very much appreciated!


End file.
